Lee’s Story: Surviving, Breaking the Cycle, and Finding Hope
Trigger Warning: The following survivor story contains descriptions of intimate partner violence (IPV) and may be triggering for some readers.
Disclaimer: The following survivor story is shared to raise awareness about the realities of intimate partner violence (IPV) and the importance of safety planning when leaving an abusive relationship. Every situation is unique, and leaving can be the most dangerous time for a survivor. If you or someone you know is experiencing domestic violence, we strongly encourage seeking support from trained professionals to develop a well-thought-out safety plan before taking any steps to leave. Help is available—please reach out to trusted resources such as the National Domestic Violence Hotline (800-799-SAFE) or a local advocacy organization for guidance and support. Your safety is the priority.
Written by Nichole Schmidt
Told by Lee
Who I was…..
I thought I knew how to be healthy. I really believed that. I had done so much work on myself, trauma training, therapy, even advocating for other foster youth. I had been through the system, fought for my records, and made a name for myself speaking out about my experiences. I was running a charity, helping kids aging out of foster care get birth certificates and start their healing process. I was finding my voice, and I was proud of that.
When I met my abuser, I thought I was safe. I thought I knew what an abuser looked like, that I could recognize the signs. I had done Dialectical Behavior Therapy (DBT) to learn how to validate myself and not rely on others. But it turns out, I’m just a very empathetic person, and he saw that right away.
I remember being so excited when I first met him. I’m on the autism spectrum, and when I get excited, I get really excited, it’s part of who I am. Some people love that about me, some don’t, but I don’t hide it. And I was excited, I had come so far, I had learned so much, and I was proud of myself. I shared my poetry, told him about my past, my healing, my advocacy. Without realizing it, I was handing him the roadmap to my vulnerabilities.
In the beginning, he was everything I had ever wanted. He validated me in ways that felt real. He made me feel seen, heard. He told me all the things that so many survivors hear:
"You are my soulmate."
"I would find you in any universe."
"I could never be without you."
It was intense, too intense. But when you don’t know, you don’t know. I thought he was just passionate. I didn’t recognize the love bombing for what it was.
The First Red Flag
About two months in, we had an argument. We were on opposite sides of something, and he started throwing names at me. But I was strong. I was confident. I told him, "Get out of my apartment. Who do you think you are talking to me like that?" I thought that was it.
But he didn’t leave.
Instead, he kicked in my door in a rage, trying to force his way back inside. I called the police, but when he apologized, I rationalized. It’s just a door. He didn’t hit me. It wasn’t that bad. I didn’t realize how dangerous it was, how this was just the beginning.
After that, he made me promise two things before we got back together:
I could never call the police on him again.
We would handle things privately.
I didn’t tell anyone about those promises until much later, and looking back, I realize how much power they gave him over me.
Moving to California & The First Assault
He convinced me to move to California with him. I had children with me at the time, and we crossed states on a Greyhound bus. On the way, the abuse started escalating. I kept excusing it, he was tired, the trip was hard, we were stressed. I wanted to believe it was just the circumstances.
When we got there, he took me on a hike in Bear Valley. He insisted on carrying the backpack and wouldn’t let me bring my own. At the time, I thought it was sweet. Later, I would realize it was about control.
We hiked 15 miles up in the mountains. The elevation was different from what I was used to, my breathing was off, and I was exhausted. He refused to let me drink from the LifeStraw. I didn’t realize how bad this was until much later, I kept brushing it off, thinking maybe I was just out of shape or lazy.
That night, when we got back to the cabin, I asked him where he had been. I had a little tone in my voice, maybe, but nothing that should have set him off the way it did.
And then, he strangled me.
It was the first time.
I didn’t know what to do. You see things on TV about black eyes, bruises, broken bones. But strangulation? You don’t always see the damage, so I didn’t process how serious it was. I wasn’t sure what to call it. I kept thinking, he hurt me. Now I have to leave. I don’t even have a choice anymore.
But I was stuck. We were isolated, high up in the mountains, no cell service, no easy way out. I had to stay quiet until I could get down to where there were people. I kept replaying the moment, trying to figure out what I did wrong. But now, I know I did nothing wrong.
Survival Mode & The Moment I Knew I Had to Leave
When we got off the mountain, he convinced me it would never happen again. And I believed him.
We spent a night in the Mojave Desert. I remember laying on a wool blanket, no tent, nothing but the desert sky. I looked at the mountains around me, and even in the middle of all that fear, I thought, this is beautiful.
And then I thought about Gabby Petito.
I remembered what was said about her looking up at the sky, and I thought, I don’t want this to be the last thing I ever see.
I wanted to see a thousand more mountains. I wanted to see the ocean—I hadn’t even seen the Redwoods yet. I thought about my children. I thought, they deserve to have their mother.
I knew then....I had to leave.
The Escape
When I finally left, I was only successful because I had told someone else. A friend of mine told me, "If you don’t call the police, I will." So I did.
When the police arrived, I almost backed out. I wanted to protect him. I didn’t want him arrested, I just wanted to leave. But my friend was on the phone with the police, making sure they knew the truth. "She’s been strangled. This is serious. She needs help."
Even then, the system failed me. They told me it would take 6-7 months before the DA could charge him with strangulation. They couldn’t physically detain him. When I called a domestic violence shelter, they told me that my son, who has special needs, would have to go to a men’s shelter by himself. I couldn’t let that happen.
So I stayed. Again.
Eventually, I convinced him to come back to Pennsylvania with me. But when he found out I wanted to leave him for good, he tried to end my life.
That was when I finally reached out for help.
Why I Tell My Story
Gabby’s story saved my life.
Because of her, I knew what strangulation meant. I knew how serious it was. And now, I’m taking my second chance and using it to help other people leave.
Strangulation should be considered attempted murder. It is deadly. It is serious. And too many people don’t understand the weight of it until it’s too late.
I want to save a life in honor of Gabby.
If you are in an abusive relationship, start leaving today. Even if it’s just a small step. Hide a bag. Tell a friend. Say it out loud.
And if you think this can’t happen to you, I thought that too.
